Parseltongue 2012

The inaugural publication of Sharyland High School's literary arts magazine. Parseltongue is student-run and sponsored by Andrew Hollinger

parseltongue
parseltongue, 2012
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Parsel Tongue
THE literary magazine for Sharyland High School
1106 N. Shary Rd., Mission, TX 78572
wwwsharylandisd.org
www.shsthefang.com
Distributed under Creative Commons
Material may be used without express permission,
if and only if, the authorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s name appears with the
selection.
Spring 2012
Electronic Journal
ÂŠ Parsel Tongue
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parseltongue, 2012
parseltongue staff
Editor-in-Chief
Seongwoo Jeong
Director of Prose
Sangwoo Kim
Director of Poetry
Wongyu Choi
Director of Art
Maddi Gonzalez
Committee Member
Lauren Ferting
history
the work
Parsel Tongue began with an idea that the
humanities were worth pursuing, that there
is value in art and experience, that in our
rush to be better at math and science, we
sometimes forget to appreciate a beautiful
phrase or idea—maybe, we’ve even forgotten how.
All the writing that appears in this issue
is the work of students at Sharyland High
School. Our magazine held open submissions. The pieces were then selected by the
Parsel Tongue staff, according to our vision
and goal.
Committee Member
Andrew Koenig
Editor Emeritus
Elizabeth Choi
If we could have included all the submissions in our magazine, we would have. In
publishing, there are many limiting factors:
time, cost, space, venue—and the list could
go on. We thank you for your submissions.
Keep on sending them in!
Sponsor
Andrew Hollinger
Parsel Tongue began in August 2010. The
first year we had to learn how to run a
magazine. This year, we published.
parseltongue, 2012
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from
the
editors
T
he idea for the Parsel Tongue began after peer-editing a
friend’s writing assignment for our AP English class. No,
the assignment isn’t the focus here, but a poem that was
written on the next page of the notebook. Not being a very
active writer myself, I had never imagined that a student could or
would write something that was not somehow related to school.
Whether a story, a poem, a research paper, my writing had always
been in an academic context. So reading that poem was exciting.
Without the customary restraint and caution that often dominates a
school assignment, the poem shed light on a very different part of
my friend’s mind, one that had remained hidden during our everyday conversations. It’s not that the poem revealed intensely private
and personal thoughts, but, rather, ideas that just could not be expressed in a regular context with regular words.
Through parseltongue, I hoped to discover more of these “irregular” ideas and encourage its authors to further develop and
share those ideas with the rest of us. It would have no regulations or
limitations: the only requirement would be that the authors and artists employ whatever means necessary to most successfully com-
municate their ideas. And thus,
last year, a group of friends and
I founded parseltongue.
As a fledgling organization,
we faced the usual challenges:
funding, beginner’s errors, and
the difficult task of establishing
an effective and orderly system
of running the organization.
We realized that a literary magazine involved more than just
publishing works; it required
the joint efforts of writing, marketing, designing, and
editing. Initially, the
main objective of
parseltongue
was to foster
the innovation
and creativity
of its artists;
however, this
emphasis on
creativity soon
expanded to include all aspects
of the magazine as
we worked to solve
every obstacle we faced.
Now, parseltongue is not
merely a magazine that publishes writing. It is a forum for
students to express and share
their creative ideas. Whether a
poem or a sketch or a bazooza,
our goal is to provide opportunities for students to develop
these ideas as effectively as
possible, and subsequently inspire the spirit of innovation
within others. This first issue
is a conglomeration of all these
ideas. Every inch of the magazine, from the layout and design
of the magazine, to each piece
of writing, to the art direction
is the manifestation of someone’s unique vision. I hope that
through your peers’ works, you
experience the same sense of
discovery that I did with
my friend’s poem,
and that you are
inspired to pursue your own
creative ideas.
Before I
finish this letter, I would
like to thank
Mr. Andrew
Hollinger for
all the support
he has given to this
organization, and for
the creativity he inspires
in us every day.
shs
-Elizabeth Choi
Editor Emeritus
Literature is a way to express, contain, and share one’s feelings and thoughts. It is our vision to collect and admire the
work of our fellow Rattlers, and to continue to grow in both
breadth and depth—to make a magazine worth even the most
discriminating reader’s attention.
parseltongue • 2012
It’s the first thing people ask: what does that mean, anyway?
Felida Villarreal
Sergine Brune
Roel Rodriguez
Miranda Garcia
Andori Cuellar
Lauren Fertig
Dustin Leidner
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Parseltongue is the language of snakes, made popular by J.K.
Rowling’s Harry Potter series. When the literary magazine
club first began, we received an imperative from the administration to maintain something “snakey” about our work.
How do you literarily insert snake into an art journal? It was
difficult, that’s for sure. And then: parseltongue. It was immediately a hit. This magazine, then, is the language of the
Rattlers that walk the halls of Sharyland High School.
Felisa Lugo
Camila Anguiano
Lydia Orr
Ally Garza
Jacob Ramon
Laura Young
Cindy Crowley
Shannon Hale
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21
24
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The theme for this issue is dreams, a topic that we felt was
general enough to allow our writers to think in many directions. This opens up a canvas where the writers’ pens flourish
across the page exploring their ideas, beliefs.
Alejandra Longoria
Victoria Juarez
Maddi Gonzalez
Paul Soto
Nanette Nissen
Angela Le
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Maeka De La Torre
Kaitlyn Albrecht
Matthew Scoggins
Robin Carin
Jairo Selvera
Cassie Guerrero
Daniel Mills
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37
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Our work is this, the parseltongue.
Rattlers...parseltongue...get it?
Enjoy our first edition, unique writing from unique
parselmouths.
-Seongwoo Jeong
Editor
Something Intangible
Lies
On the Run
The Woods
Running
Old Man
The Tale of Draco Drake and the
Dragon Druid
Amigas...Para Siempre...
Let Me Stay
Limerick
The American Dream
The Dream Diaries
The Stare Down
Waiting for Help
Is This Reality or Is This a
Dream
One Long, Last Glance
Dreams
Glide
Dreams
Traveling in Asia
Why We Dream & What Causes
Dreams
Somnabulism
An Unexpected Fate
The Dance of Dread
Not So Different
Dreams of a Young Man
Then There Was Nothing
Children of the Night
s
r
d
m
a
e
A dreamer is one who can only find his way
by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees
the dawn before the rest of the world.
-Oscar Wilde
LIES
by Sergine Brune
SOMETHING INTANGIBLE
by Felida Villarreal
Decepetions of an untrue reality—yet true
to the degree representative of your actions.
Reasons for living and confronting challenges in aim for personal success.
Enlightenment into the correct path filled
with chances and decisions to be made.
A sole product of both the individual imagination and set aspirations for the near
future.
Memories of inspiration; an incentive for
pursuing achievement as an ideal professional.
Sounds ringing and waking you, never too
late to follow your significant and true
purpose.
Its like when you close your eyes you fall into a next
world
A world where things can go right or wrong; sounds like
the one we live in
But the thing about a dream is it’s a dream: things go the
way you want it
Shift your eyes right and your body left and the dream
takes a great turn for the worst
Lift your right leg up, bend you left arm and the dream
goes to take a horrible turn for the best
Or is that true?
Since you’re asleep, shouldn’t your dream be what’s going on in your head
Shouldn’t your dreams be an explanation of your emotions and what you’re feeling
Or is that true?
Maybe we’re all living things, meaning anything with
a heartbeat, we’re all psychics who are predicting the
future
When we sleep, our eyes move rapidly left and right to
create a picture
A picture of what’s going to happen next
But whose future are we seeing
Is it somebody else’s and the people are dressed as people
we would recognize
But the future changes every second
Or is that true?
If the definition of a dream is questionable, does that
mean the dreams we create for ourselves are, too
Or do the dreams we dream while we’re asleep: questionable; but, the dreams we create while awake: real
Day dreaming ? Maybe
Maybe dreams only happen to those who truly believe in
the myth of the dream
Or it that true?
parseltongue, 2012
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ON THE RUN
by Roel Rodriguez
Darkness. The abysmal pit of darkness that lies before me blinds my eyes. Then, at the end of a long tunnel, I see
a dull, aching light. The hand of God reaches into the thick layers of nothingness that envelop my body. As the hand
brings me out of the abyss, I am dumbstruck by white — white clothes, white walls, white, faceless men, and white
light. My eyes find no importance in anything except for the light: the beautiful, comforting light. All that separates
me from bliss is the billionth of a second it takes the photon to greet my waking eyes. Like a magnetic field I find
my eye locked in a trance towards the light. There is nothing physical about this attraction, yet it holds my eye with
such grip, that I cannot look away if I tried.
Time lapses. My infant body is shed and left behind in order to host a more mature, yet prepubescent existence.
Many things have changed, yet my eye remains fixed upon a bright, knowledgeable light, and humanity remains
faceless. As my eyes zoom out from the light, I feel a soft current upon my back. I feel myself floating on a sea of
innocence and serenity, the water sending chills down my spine. I turn to look at the world around me. Almost as
magnetic as light, I feel infatuated by the beauty of nature. I climb upon the bank and dry myself, then proceed into
the thick foliage. I hear a crack as timber comes crashing upon the earth. I turn to see faceless lumberjacks destroying the very serenity and beauty I have grown to love. I feel the veins in my neck protrude as I shout, yet no words
are heard by then men, for I am but a child. The men continue to destroy my very world, and I feel myself age. I run
away from it all. Why live with the very people that can rip out your very soul for profit? I continue to flee, my stride
growing longer as I age, I stop to rest at a clearing of the forest. I’m done with this.
I have to get out of here. As I sit, pondering my escape, a bullet whizzes by. War has found its way to nature and
is making it the battlefield. I try to stand, but find myself helpless. The struggle to leave the world I have grown to
love is like tightrope walking with a two ton plate. Every step forward can be a step down, towards humiliation.
I hear them getting closer; I know I am not going anywhere. I reflect upon my life, which consisted of loving the
world, but it seems like love is a one way street. I hear something land beside me; I turn to see a grenade by my left
foot. I give out a sigh of relief; at that instant I see the fire and then nothing. Time is gone, it’s all over.
Darkness. The abysmal pit of darkness that lies before me blinds my eyes. Then I see at the end of a long tunnel,
light, a dull aching light…
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parseltongue, 2012
THE WOODS
by Miranda Garcia
I woke in the woods. The trees twisted into the sky like
gnarled fingers, branches black against the grey dystopian
sky. There was no sound; there were no animals. There was
nothing but the trees. And me. Suddenly, I was walking. I
was no longer at the place I had awoken. I could see a lake,
a perfect slate mirror of the trees that now reached into the
water’s depths. There was something in my peripheral vision,
I wanted to turn around and look but could not, try as I might.
It wasn’t a tree, not tall enough... but it also wasn’t a person,
people weren’t that tall. I tried to turn to see, but it felt as if my
head was being held on either side. I strained against the force
and with a loud snap my head turned with a forced I did not
expect and I could finally see what it was, standing amongst
the trees. A faceless figure that easily stood nine and a half
feet. It’s skin, if it was in fact skin, had an unsettling ashen pallor to it. It may have been human. Once. I couldn’t turn away,
though I dearly wanted to. There was a sudden ringing in my
ears and I began to walk forward, towards the faceless figure.
I didn’t want to, but I found that I could not stop myself. The
ringing got louder and coughs wracked my body, each getting
stronger as I got closer.
At length, I fell at the feet of the figure, coughing uncontrollably. I began to ache from the subjection, I looked up at the
shadow towering above me.
“Why?” I managed to sputter between gasps of air. The
figure did not move, did not acknowledge that I had said anything. It only walked away into the foggy haze of the woods.
And I followed.
parseltongue, 2012
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RUNNING
by Andori Cuellar
Running.
Dashing.
Sprinting.
She was little short of galloping like
an overworked race horse through the
forest.
She didn’t care about the branches
and thorns that scratched her face,
because if she ignored the pain, then
maybe it wasn’t real, maybe she was at
home in bed, having a horrible nightmare, rather than on the run from this
thing.
She couldn’t stop the pathetic gasps
for breath that she emitted, even though
she desperately hoped it wouldn’t catch
her, whatever it was.
Though she snapped almost every
twig that littered the forest floor, making
enough sound to be caught by the dead;
the thing moved like the wind, better
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parseltongue, 2012
yet, like a toxic gas; silent and unsuspecting until it was too late.
And it was far too late for her, she realized upon reaching the small clearing
that ended with a steep cliff and a long
fall to the bottom.
She was trapped; the thing knew
what it was doing the entire time and
chased her there on purpose, so that she
would know that there was nowhere safe
from it, not her dreams, not her head,
not even in the real world.
She felt the dread in her stomach
deepen, falling to the ground and she
knew it was watching her, waiting for
her to turn and look at it, and she, all the
while trembling and horrified, turned to
look at it.
Just as she had thought, it was there,
merely standing and soaking in her
fear. The figure too tall to be human,
with a black wide-brimmed hat, and the
long black cloak, which both served to
obscure the thing’s body and the space
where a face should be, because this
thing didn’t have one. It simply stared at
her from a smooth blank space; just as it
did in the nightmares she’d had for the
past month, it never approached her, it
never spoke, it just stared, and it was the
most terrifying thing that she had ever
encountered in any dream or reality.
Then it began to move, silent, without the slightest sound, like the essence
of death given a corporeal form. She
couldn’t stop her feet as they moved,
taking two steps back for every inch that
it came closer, desperate to get away
from this monster.
She should have remembered that the
thing knew exactly what it was doing,
and as it came closer and closer, she
stepped further and further away, not
paying attention to her footing, and it
should come as no surprise that the next
step was her last.
As she fell off the cliff, she saw the
thing look down at her before it
dissipated in a cloud of black
acrid smoke, and it only
confirmed what she had
already known.
This was not a
dream.
This was not
a nightmare.
She was
dead.
“
True ease
comes fro
chance, as
move easi
learned to
-
OLD MAN
by Lauren Fertig
Business is unforgiving.
Each night finds me proofreading reports,
And every morning on trains 5 and 7.
Always a constant scramble,
Never a moment to look up,
A never-ending mountain of paperwork.
This morning found me on the only free
bench
Awaiting number 7
In a frantic attempt to finish the last
Of the previous day’s reports.
Frazzled by the stupidity of my employees,
I would have joyfully strangled each
one
Had they stood before me.
in writing
om art, not
s those who
iest have
o dance.
A drawn-out sigh like a
mournful wind forced
me
To look up from
my work
In exaspera-
“
-Alexander Pope
tion,
And I found myself face to face
With what had to be the oldest creature
Ever to walk the earth.
A fossil with a heartbeat.
His visage was grotesque,
Tanned, beaten, scuffed and lashed.
Life had carved great canyons and
gorges
Across what was once skin,
Now as cracked and shriveled as rotten
leather.
As my initial shock wore off
His full appearance seized me.
From his worn overcoat
Threadbare at the elbows
To the sparse snow-white strands of hair
Clinging desperately to his crown and
temples,
He gave off such an air of weariness and
ravagement
I felt as if I myself had aged 50 years.
My gaze travelled unbidden to the man’s
face
And found his eyes,
Nearly hidden behind half-closed,
weathered lids.
While every other aspect of him portrayed depression,
The aged man’s eyes held an expression
That transcended generations
And held me
Spellbound.
He gazed in rapture upon a world unseen,
Unknown to me.
His mind, it seemed, was unravaged by
time.
Whatever world this man dreamt of
Far surpassed my comprehension.
So transfixed was I that I did not realize
The number 7 train had arrived
And departed.
My company pen lay on the floor
Forgotten
As I lost myself inside the imaginings
Of a man ravaged by time
Who yet remained untouched,
Providing for himself an escape
From a world he had too long suffered
through.
parseltongue, 2012
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THE TALE OF DRACO DRAKE
AND THE DRAGON DRUID
By Dustin Leidner
This is the story of a wee little child,
8 years of age, who dreamed a dream. A
big dream. Yes, a very big dream indeed. His name was Draco Drake, and
he dreamed to be a dragon druid. Yes,
that is correct; a dragon druid. Can you
see why this is a big dream? First of all,
dragons do not exist, and second of all,
druids are pretty mythological figures
themselves, from an ancient time. And
what sense does it make to be a dragon
druid anyway? Druidism has nothing to
do with dragons, after all.
Draco Drake never bothered thinking about these things. He had a dream
one day. A dream that he described as
dreamy. And in that dream, he was a
dragon druid. Ever since he had that
dream, he stopped showing up to school,
and he would leave home for far too
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parseltongue, 2012
much time at a time. Naturally, his
friends and family drew a conclusion:
he was a delinquent, and should not be
dealt with, only ignored.
His peers would ask him questions
about why he does what he does, but
it would always be in vain, since they
would never get answers that made a
lick of sense. “What is a dragon druid?”,
some would ask him. “It’s what I want
to be.”, he would say. “But what is
that?”, they would press on. “A dragon
druid,” he would repeat. Any conversation you tried to have with him would
go around in circles. It was useless. So
everyone eventually stopped asking him
questions about it, then questions in
general, then just stopped talking to him
altogether.
Draco Drake loved this, since it
meant no one would ever bother him.
He was free to pursue his dream! No
more wasted time... Every day, he went
to the forest nearby (about a 30-minute
walk from his house), and he would
do God knows what. And every day
he would wake up (before his parents,
even), make himself some cereal, and go
straight to the forest. Each time he went,
he stayed a little longer, until he would
stay there till evening, come back home,
sleep, and repeat. Draco Drake was
dedicated to nothing but realizing his
dream to become a dragon druid.
He did this everyday for 11 years.
At some point during that time, Draco
Drake left home for good and started
living in the forest. It’s obvious that his
parents didn’t really care about him,
so it was not a hard decision for Draco
Drake at all. He stopped caring about
all those things that held him back from
becoming a dragon druid: friends, family, his whole social life in general. He
stopped caring about the outside world
entirely. Nothing else mattered besides
becoming a dragon druid. He didn’t
even bother , with hygiene, having not
brushed his teeth or shaven since he
moved out of the house.
Since Draco Drake had completely
separated from his previous life, he was
oblivious that his parents had divorced.
Mrs. Drake discovered that she was a
lesbian, so she decided she could not
continue the relationship she had with
Mr. Drake. Mr. Drake moved to one
side of the country, and Mrs. Drake
moved to the other.
Ms. Drake soon remarried to a fellow divorcée, Ms. Liversplat, who had
a son of her own, a few years older than
Draco Drake . His name was Alex, and
he had just graduated from college. He
majored in art history. Alex was at that
point in his life when he has his degree,
but he hasn’t found anything to do with
it yet. So he has been living with his two
moms for the past few days. With time,
the topic of Draco Drake came up in a
conversation between Alex and his new
stepmom. Alex was tickled pink that
he had a stepbrother, since he too was
a single, lonely child his whole life. It
was especially interesting that he was
an insane antisocial hermit living in the
wilderness to become a dragon druid
too.
So Alex drove on to the forest Draco
Drake lived at, compelled to meet his
new stepbrother. The drive lasted many
hours, but Alex had nothing better to do
with his time. Well into noon, he arrived
at the forest and started poking around,
keeping an eye out for Draco Drake.
After about an hour of searching around
the area, he found Draco Drake’s cave.
He knew it was Draco Drake’s cave
since “DRACO DRAKE’S CAVE” was
written above the entrance in beaver
blood. And Alex knew it was beaver
blood because there was a small pile of
beaver corpses – about a dozen – near
the gaping hole of darkness that was
Draco Drake’s cave.
Alex hesitantly ventured forth into
the cave, which was pretty deep and
soon found a hunched figure by another
pile of beaver corpses. The strange thing
about this was that the figure had an
enormously long beard, longer than any
he had ever seen, even on the Internet.
It was at least 9 feet long, since it was
dragging along the cavegrounds. “Are
you Draco Drake?”, asked Alex from a
distance away from the scene. He got no
answer, as the young man was too busy
writing strange runic symbols in beaver
blood around the beaver corpse pile.
It looked like he was doing some kind
of ritual. “My name’s Alex. I’m your
stepbrother.” Still he got no reply, since
the man was preoccupied with pouring
gasoline on the rotting pile in the center.
“You have been in here for quite a long
time, haven’t you?”, Alex continued.
Yet again, he got no response from
the strange creature before him, maniacally twisted a stick into another stick.
You know, the way they do it to make
a fire. “A lot has happened since you’ve
been liv--“ Suddenly a huge fire erupted
in his face. It was rapidly spreading
through the whole cave, and Alex frightfully but hesitantly ran out of there. He
exited the cave, coughing and gagging
on smoke. He was both coughing and
gagging, so he was in great pain. He
decided to sit down in front of the cave,
staring at the flames that spilled out here
and there. The whole cave was on fire,
and there is no way Draco Drake wasn’t
burning alive by now. Alex did not
dare go back in now though, since that
would ensure both of their deaths. Still,
he waited for the fire to die down, and,
with time, it did. Alex reluctantly started
to walk towards the entrance again, but
when he got close, WHOOSH! Something huge had sent Alex flipping backwards along the ground and knocked
him on his rear. Alex looked around
him, but saw nothing.
But then he looked upward, and in
the sky he saw the most ridiculous thing
he had ever seen, bar none. It was the
bearded man in the cave, riding on a
majestic winged dinosaur or alligator or
something – No, that was definitely a
dragon. Alex could not believe his eyes.
He was stunned in awe, simply watching, watching as Draco Drake flew the
dragon round in circles in the sky, beard
flowing royally in the wind. Soon, he
and his dragon dashed straight in the
other direction almost like a bullet, and
Alex forced himself to run after it. He
could not keep up though, and Draco
Drake and his dragon had quickly be-
parseltongue, 2012
13
come a tiny dot in the horizon. Alex, panting, gazed onwards
towards the sunset and witnessed the tiny dot disappear, as it
had darted upward above the clouds and disappeared. It was
clear: Draco Drake had become a dragon druid.
Late at night, Alex returned home to his two moms and
told them of what he saw, but they did not believe him. Heck,
Alex didn’t even believe it, but he saw what he saw. He witnessed with his very own eyes the arrival of the world’s very
first dragon druid.
Alex nor anyone else have seen or heard from Draco Drake
since that day he disappeared into the vista. He could be in
realms no one thought existed, having countless adventures
with his dragon companion. No one knows what came of
Draco Drake, but we do know that Mrs. Drake eventually
divorced Mrs. Liversplat too. But just because Draco Drake
is Alex’s ex-stepbrother and just because Draco Drake never
said a word to him or acknowledged him in any way, Alex still
thought of him as his brother. As a hero. On that day, Alex
learned that anything is possible if you just believe. Now Alex
works as a construction worker, and is nearly-fired almost
every day for daydreaming on the job, and his mom remarried some other woman. Then a man, after realizing she was
heterosexual.
So remember, children: You can do anything you set your
mind to. Dragons don’t exist, and nobody knows what a druid
is, but that didn’t stop Draco Drake from becoming a dragon
druid. All it took was 11 years of living alone in the wild and
raw willpower and dedication. If he can do it, so can you.
Nothing is impossible; that’s impossible. As long as you can
dream it, you can do it. So dream on, dear reader. Dream on.
parseltongue, 2012
15
AMIGAS...PARA SIEMPRE...
By:Felisa Lugo
Slowly my eyes opened and as I looked cautiously around, scanning
my surroundings, I realized one thing—this is not my bed. Where am
I? What the hell is this? Uh-oh! My mind kept screaming as I looked
around to notice something that snaps in my memory but no matter what
I looked at, my brain was in a state of confusion.
All of a sudden the door slammed open and there, in the entrance, was
a girl. Oh my… please don’t let this be an angry girlfriend or some girl
looking for some “un. “Hey get up already! It’s already going to be eleven!
Hurry up!” the girl said as she lifted the covers off me, sending sharp cold
air my way, hitting me like a ton of bricks. As I got out of this strange
bed, I scrambled around looking for something to wear, other than sweatpants. When I looked into the mirror I suddenly figured out that I had a
huge problem…Who am I? I rushed out of the room and saw the rest of
the house. It was surprisingly welcoming, which is more than I can say
about the girl. She was rather short and plump. With a brownish glow
and the smell of menudo, she had a certain vibe as if she were an abuelita.
She couldn’t be over the age of eighteen, which only made my mind
ponder even more about this awkward situation. “If you don’t mind my
asking,” I said with a worrisome tone “…but who are you?” She started to
laugh, which seemed rather fake to say the least. “You have to be joking?
Araceli… I know you hit your head last night but I didn’t think it was
that bad,” the girl said looking at me, nervously. Araceli. I guess that’s
my name. It sounds pretty. Slowly I reached for my forehead and a sharp
pain ran through my entire head, “You didn’t answer question.” I asked
her once more, still confused, “Who are you?” “I’m Fernanda. I’ve been
your best friend since we were babies,” she said trying not to sound hurt.
My mind raced trying to remember a face, a name, a place, or anything to
help me remember. As I was about to give up, I took in a whiff of her sent
once more. Menudo. “Fernanda I remember now!” I said as I started to
smile. “Y-you do?” she said with a nervous grin,” what do you remember
exactly?” “Everything up to last night…” I mumbled as I looked out the
kitchen window at something that caught my eye— a huge mesquite tree.
Wow that’s a beautiful tree.
As the day drags on everything seems to be blur together. My day
16
parseltongue, 2012
consisted of two things: cleaning the house and trying to
remember exactly what happened. My mind tells me that
something is wrong, not right. “This house is just too perfect, something has to be wrong,” I thought as I stared
at the tree. I wonder what’s out there… I made my
way to the door and headed towards the beautiful
tree. The smell of mesquite and fresh air seemed
to dance around my head. The sun had barely
set as I made my way through the trees. As
I reached the beautiful tree my perceptive of it changed. I started to feel hate
and regret. Something about this
tree sent chills down my spine. As
I circled around the tree I saw
a small trail that seemed to
lead towards a small shack
well hidden within the
brush. I made my way
towards the shack and
my heart started to race.
Suddenly my heart, which
was pounding so fast, seemed
to just stop. There, at the entrance
to the shack, laid the body of guy,
half covered in blood. He had barbed
wire still embedded into his neck. Oh
my gosh! His face…He seems so familiar…
ALEJANDRO! In that instant, memories
flashed through my head. Images of Alejandro
and me holding hands, kissing and laughing…
Then, as my eyes started to water, I remember
standing in the exact place. I see Fernanda crying and
Alejandro trying to cheer her up. Then suddenly Fernanda screams out “If you won’t love me then you won’t love
anyone at all!” She grabs barbed wire that had been left on
the ground beside her feet. As the memories start to drown
my mind, tears ran down my face as I realize that this body
below me was of the one person I loved. “So I guess you
remember...” A voice behind me that seemed to appear out
of thin air, said, “It’s too bad what happened to him. He
deserved way better but as always he had to follow his
heart or whatever...” Fernanda stood staring at me
with a grin of satisfaction on her face. “I thought
you were my friend Fernanda!?” I shouted.
Suddenly she grabbed left over barbed wire
from the floor and said “Amigos Para
siempre... but then again being friends
for life is so childish.” Suddenly she
ran towards me. I felt the sharp
pain of the barbed wire on my
hands as I tried to defend myself. As I jumped back hitting the wall of the shack,
Fernanda wrapped the
wire around my neck.
Is this what Alejandro
felt... all this pain? I won’t
let her get away with this! I
suddenly gave all my strength
to push her off, and as she fell the
barbwire went with her. I ran over
and grabbed it before she had time to
even scream. ”No matter what you do
you’ll never see his face again,” Fernanda
snickered. Without any pause, I wrapped the
wire tightly around her neck and closed my eyes.
Alejandro I’m sorry this happened to you. My
heart was full of pain and anger, until I felt her life
slowly leaving her. As her body went limp my I released
my grip on the wire and said one last thing to her lifeless
body “Karma…”
parseltongue, 2012
17
p r o s e
LIMERICK
by Lydia Orr
teacher
at Romulo
Martinez ElLET ME STAY
There was a young man named Lloyd,
ementary
in
Who spent all his time reading Freud.
Mission, Texas.
by Camila
But why analyze dreams,
Now she works at
Anguiano
Which rip apart at the seams?
Ruben Hinojosa ElNow it’s something he tries to avoid.
ementary, which happens
April 2012. The day the world
to be in the same district as
ends. Well, for me at least. That’s
the elementary that she worked
around the time that my visa expires.
at before. During the time this was all
Not my credit card that is, but that little paper
happening, my parents divorced and I now live
that the U.S. Consulate staples onto your passport that lets you with my mother while my father lives in Mexico.
live in the U.S. for a certain amount of time. You’re probably
I’m currently a junior in high school and I’m meant to be
thinking: “Well you can just go get another one. It’s not the graduating in June 2013. During my sophomore year, I decided
end of the world, calm down!” If it was that easy, wouldn’t you that I wanted to go to college in either London, or anywhere
think that I would’ve gone already to the Consulate to get an- outside of Texas, because I felt that I had to go far away from
other one? You see, since I moved here in 2005 I’ve always lived home to become independent and fend for myself without havwith a Visa. So far I’ve gone to get a Visa three times and after ing anyone there to do it for me. I’ve always wanted to pursue a
a certain amount of time you are forced to apply for residency; career in the medical field, and depending on what you’re going
if not you get deported.
to specialize in, you could be in school for up to thirteen years.
I get to live here because the country gives my mother and The visa that my mom and I are supposed to, hopefully, be getme a special visa due to her becoming an elementary teacher. At ting in April will last for three years. When that V\visa expires,
first I lived on a visa for my father’s job, but after his company I will be a semester into my sophomore year in college and if
went bankrupt we could only live here until our visa at the time my mother’s school doesn’t give her the opportunity to apply for
expired; after that we would have to go back to Mexico. My moth- residency I’ll have to finish college in Mexico. I do not like that.
er, though, decided that she didn’t want to move back so, during At all.
the time we had left with our Visa, she took special courses to
Coming to this country is such a great opportunity for
become a teacher. After a couple of months, she finished all of me to have a better education. Studying in an American elethe courses and that summer she got a job as a sixth grade math mentary, junior high and high school give me a great advantage
18
parseltongue, 2012
THE AMERICAN DREAM
by Ally Garza
poetry
in getting into a good college, plus I’m not from this country,
which means that I have an even better chance of getting into a
good college, because they need diversity in their school. I would
do anything to be able to stay here forever. I could probably get a
student visa so I could stay here for college but only private colleges give those out to their international and foreign students. I
could go to London and study over there but that would mean
that I wouldn’t be able to go home as often as I want to and get to
see my friends when they’re on break as well because the plane
tickets would be very expensive.
I pray every night to God to help my mother to get her
residency. All I want is for me to finish all of my studies here
and for my mom to live somewhere that she loves and is close
to wherever I go for college. Things happen for a reason. If my
mother doesn’t get to apply for residency and we have to go back
to Mexico, there’s a reason why that happened. God has better
plans for us, I guess. Whatever happens, happens; but I’ll come
back to see all of my friends and everyone that I’ve met since I’ve
lived here. This is where I grew up, this is where I’m meant to be
and I’ll do anything to get to stay here.
We’re all searching for something
in the land of nothing.
Our expectations exceed the realm
of possibility.
“I have a dream.”
We all have dreams.
Perfection can never be reached.
“The American Dream”
Trust in us.
We’re all you’ve got.
We are the future.
Our future seems very distant.
One day you’re 15 going on 30.
Next you’re pregnant with a child.
Family. Friends. Money.
The unachievable perfection,
People kill for this “dream.”
Kill others, kill themselves, kill
spirits.
parseltongue, 2012
19
THE DREAM DIARIES
by Jacob Ramon
Today I swam across a sea of milk
Tasted the chocolate sky
Flew with the healing breath of dawn.
I pranced around in murky waters
Plummeted from a skyscraper
Told the world my darkest secrets
I gave a speech in my underwear
Played tag with forgotten monsters
Tangled the strings of time into a knot
I was invincible
And I was powerless
Not lost
And not in control
I was nowhere, and everywhere.
Today I snapped my fingers
Disintegrated a city
Burned a creamy red rose
I watched my world shudder
Saw butterflies explode
Popped my neck, and bathed in venom
I twirled a ribbon
Splintered a bone
Cried so much I laughed
I was crazy
And I was rational
Not clear
And not blurry
I was nothing, and everything.
20
parseltongue, 2012
Today I snapped a photo
planted a shiny seed
kissed a glamorous girl
I conducted an orchestra
floated across chasms of light
whispered a lullaby, roared in victory
I held a shell and listened hard
Embraced an imaginary friend
Watched colors splash on a wall of sound
I was free
And I was trapped
Not real
And not false
I was nobody, and everybody.
THE STARE DOWN
by Laura Young
“Are we there yet?”
Alison was impatient. She had been
sitting in the car for far too long and
wanted to get out and stretch her little
legs.
“Darling, we still have six more hours
until we reach our hotel for the night.” A
tired sounding female voice answered.
Alison crossed her arms and frowned.
She hated car rides. There was nothing worse than being trapped in a small
amount of space for a large amount of
time with nothing to do except look out
the window at all the passing images. It
was like watching a very boring nature
TV show special on fast forward.
She pressed the side of her cheek to
the window. The electric blue eyes that
gazed out flashed suddenly with a childish spark of deviance. She had a brilliant
idea.
“I need to go to bathroom.” She said
quietly while looking down at her feet.
A groan could be heard eminating
from the front seat.
“Can it wait Sweetie? We’re in the
middle of nowhere.”
“I need to go to the bathroom!”
“We can’t stop honey. Just hold it until
we get to a gas station.”
“I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM.”
It was a pining tone edged with indigence and an accusing stab of injustice.
“1 ½ miles to Picnic Area,” read a
yellow sign on the side of the road. The
silver mini van was soon pulling up into
a deserted parking lot. There was a grimy
building some ways away with two doors
on each opposite end. Around the building were untrimmed hedges, lanky birch
trees scattered here and there, and an
assortment of picnic tables topped with
decorations of bird droppings.
Alison got out of the car and scampered over to the once white building
but had clearly just gotten a mossy green
paint job from none of there than Mother
Nature herself.
“Alison, honey, maybe you should
go squat behind a tree.” The mother was
looking hesitantly at the clearly unsanitary state of the structure.
The daughter seemed not to have
heard. She was observing the peculiar
sign upon one of the facility’s doors.
It was a typical stick figure at first
glance. Not unlike the stick figures usually outside of bathroom doors that let
visitors know the proper gender orientation of the four corners within. But upon
closer inspection the stick figure, clothed
in a dress, seemed to have a etched on
face with two x’s for eyes and a slash for
a mouth. To top it off, there seemed to be
a puddle of red paint splattered near the
figure’s feet.
Alison called out, “Mommy...”
The door opened.
The big blue eyes didn’t blink, but her
mouth let out a sharp gasp of surprise as
an old man in a elephant grey jumpsuit
backed his way out of the bathroom with
a moving cart that held a bright yellow
bucket, a mop, broom, dustpan, and
countless of colorful spray bottles that
oddly enough didn’t have any labels.
At the noise, the man turned to look
at Alison. He seemed to turn his neck
abnormally slow, almost as though it was
an extremely painful stunt to do so, but
when his deep sunken eyes met the little
girls they opened wide with astonishment.
He didn’t speak a word. His popping
eyes gazed at her in silence, and then
breaking contact, he twisted his head
slightly in the direction of the door he
had just vacated as if to say, “Well, go on
then.”
Alison needed no excuse to get away
from this strange man who smelled heavily of Pine-sol. She darted past him and
into the lavatory.
It was spotless. Blue tiled walls, shiny
mirror, and a whitewashed cement floor
with a gleaming silver drain in the middle. There were three sinks, with three
mirrors above each, and three stalls.
Allie walked a little closer to look a her
reflection in the immaculate mirror.
She found that she couldn’t look away.
Closer, and closer she edged to herself.
She was leaning over the sink, peering
through the looking glass, she was so
close now she was almost touching her
nose to her nose.
“ALLIE!” A booming voice called.
continued on 24
parseltongue, 2012
21
You. Me, Us. Together. Forever. Wanna?
-Robynn Carin
No, I will not draw you.
-Maddi Gonzalez
You have five seconds. Start running.
-Jacob Ramon
I have no problems until sunrise.
-Ale Longoria
Being a nerd: today’s EXTREME sport.
-Ezra Chia
My only sunshine today is you.
-Angela Le
Didn’t know; didn’t do. Came unglued.
-Jenessa Soto
I saw you, and life began.
-Felida Villarreal
Sit still. Smile. No thinking required.
-Lauren Fertig
Survival guide: eat, sleep, stay alive.
-Vanessa Alfaro
He’ll be here soon. We’ve got—
-Andori Cuellar
A dead king; the wrong heir.
-Miranda Garcia
22
parseltongue, 2012
This is just as nice, right?
-Kassandra Rodriguez
She’s him; he’s her; I’m me!
-Aaron Cantú
Does she feel what I’m feeling?
-Karlo Hinojosa
I love you...*does not compute*
-Shannon Hale
Inspiration can come from anywhere, everywhere.
-Blanca Niño
I wrestled God and I lost.
-Andrew Koenig
Here’s my life. Use it well.
-Matthew Scoggins
Wet paint, no sign, oh crap.
Sometimes I fly in my dreams.
-Jairo Selvera
-Rachel Martinez
Wipe your hands clean; start again.
-Cindy Crowley
parseltongue, 2012
23
continued from 21
Where was it coming from? Alison
wanted to look around but she found that
she was glued to her spot, stuck in a sort
of unblinking stare down contest with
herself.
“ALISON.” Again.
At that very moment she realized,
however, that it was her mouth that had
called out her name. For her lips had
moved in perfect synchronization with
the sound, and her reflection had mimicked the movement as though she was
some kind of cruel twin sister whose sole
purpose in life was to copy.
“W-what do you want with me?” Her
hand at her side trembled.
Her twin smirked.
“I want what you want.”
“I want you to go away.”
She laughed. A horrible, ugly grownup laugh.
“If I go away, you’ll go away too. Do
you want that?”
Alison didn’t understand the question.
Her little brow furrowed. “You’re making
me look stupid!” Her reflection hissed.
“It’s my turn to be on the other side.”
A tiny hand lifted up towards the mirror and hit it, hard.
Shards of glass were spiraling in slow
motion throughout the air. Alison’s dark
brown hair was whipped around her face,
and her eyes were tight shut, while one of
her hands was dotted with specks of dark
red. A piercing scream hung in the air as
though suspended in time and space...
“Allie, Allie! ” Someone was shaking
her. It was her mother.
“You’re having a bad dream, wake up
Honey! You fell asleep in the car.”
Alison stirred blearily.
Her mother stood in the gateway
of the slide along door, looking at her
daughter curiously.
“I stopped here at the store for bathroom breaks. Do you still need to go?”
There was a pause.
“No thank you Mommy.” And with
that Alison wrapped her arms around her
puzzled mother’s waist.
WAITING FOR HELP
by Cindy Crowley
I waited till dark,
Till I was all alone,
Till the birds went to bed,
And no light shone,
And cried,
The frantic tears exploded from my eyes,
The pillow muffled my cries,
All the pain of that day seemed to fade,
24
parseltongue, 2012
And with my fake face,
I hide all the pain of the previous day,
And that night I would wait till dark,
Till I was all alone,
Till the birds went to bed,
And no light shone,
and cried,
waiting for my help to arrive.
ONE LONG, LAST GLANCE
by Alejandra Longoria
IS THIS REALITY OR IS THIS A DREAM
by Shannon Hale
Is this reality or is this a dream?
So many things happen each day
Too many mistakes happen so fast.
How can this all possibly be real?
Irate beings
So many
Amazing things
Dreams:
Reoccurring, happening fast
Everyone is a threat; untrustworthy
Any sickness mutates
More and more die each day
Overpowering
Rare moments in time
Identities stolen
Suicide
Truths that end in lies
Hours go by in seconds
Ideas becoming something more
Sacrifices
Rebellious individuals
Everything
Any human capable of anything
Life or death decisions
Incisions in the brain
Tears falling
Youth dying
I ran. I sprinted across the train station, with one goal in mind; stop
him. At that moment, I felt a water drop, fall from my eye. It slipped
down slowly, from my eye, to my cheek, to my lips. The salty taste
penetrated my tongue, and made me keep going. I was filled with sorrow and regret. If I could only go back. Undo what was already done.
I pictured him boarding the train, looking back at me and waving
goodbye. Goodbye forever. I kept running, pushing, overcoming the
obstacles in my way. I searched through the faces, looking for the one
that made me get to where I am, right here, right now. I remembered
that face. I remembered everything. I kept running, and had no intention of stopping until I found what I came here for. I saw through
millions of eyes, searching for the gaze that saw right through me.
For the gaze that made me feel loved. It was packed, and the chances
of ever finding him again, slowly faded away. All I could see was the
flowing crowd, waiting to board that train, the train that will take
him away, away from me forever. Everything in my life, everything I
loved was slipping out of my hands faster and faster. I panicked, and
felt the sudden need for air. As I turned, I analyzed the figure looking straight at me. A chill went through my spine. I gasped for air. I
ran, ran like I never did before. Our eyes met and for an instant it was
magic. I was embraced in his arms, and my arms wrapped around
his neck, with my feet above the ground. I didn’t want to let go, I
wanted to stay there forever. I felt safe and protected. He lowered me
and smiled. Touched my face and kissed. I melted in his arms, holding on to that precious moment for eternity, but before long it stopped.
His eye let down a single teardrop, and with that he held my hand.
He leaned in, I felt his breath upon my ear, and whispered words that
forever in my heart will stay. “Goodbye, my love”. His hand slowly
slipped out of my hand, but I didn’t let go. With one last sigh leaving
my lips, and one last tear falling against my cheek, I let go. I watch
him depart, feeling abandonment inside. He boards, as I take one last,
long glance. Who would have thought I would never see him again.
parseltongue, 2012
25
GLIDE
by Maddi Gonzalez
DREAMS
by Victoria Juarez
A stinging pain on my elbows and the back of my head
woke me from a sleep I could not recall. A loud crash startled
me to sit upright, become aware of my surroundings. Water
drenched me before I could realize that I was lying on some
sort of beach. The ground under me resembled some sort of
aqua colored pebbles morphed together to create huge cliffs.
Feeling the grooves the rocks had left on my elbows I noticed
that my parents were settled along the edge of the rocks placing their feet in the platinum blue water. I opened my mouth
to call to them when the distant sound of a bell struck my ears.
Puzzled, I looked behind me realizing a gargantuan stone
bell was bouncing off the cliff towards the water to right. The
impact of the bell in the water made huge tidal waves in the
distance. The sight of my mother swimming out to the water
distracted me from my concerns for the bell. Trailing behind
her was a dark figure under the water, I began screaming for
her to get out of the water until even my lungs ached. I blinked for only a moment and no longer saw my mother…
My legs became weak and all things became splotches of
color past the wall of tears filling my eyes. A figure that I
made out to be my father walked forward near the water.
“I love you, but I have to go with her. She’s my wife…” my
father said without taking his eyes off the vast depths of the
water.
Shouts and screams bursted out of my mouth to try to stop
him. Yelling how I needed him to take care of me and be there
in my life. But my breath was in vain because as quickly as
my mother, he disappeared as well.
26
parseltongue, 2012
i know i’m known to mumble
so excuse me when i stumble
on these words for i have practiced them for days
i’ve known you and i’ve held your hand
none of my movements had been planned
close to the universe but much too far away
and you glide into my dreams
you glide into my dreams
How, in all of the great cosmic power and celestial coincidence
in the universe, did a being like you come into existence in this
terrible world of ours? You’re the colors of the flares of the sun,
blinding and beautiful, racing across the fiery surfaces like you
feel nothing but warmth at the tips of your fingers...the tips of
your fingers fan out into the heavy Texan air and you breathe;
you breathe and exist and become the skies that you have set
not as your limit, but your starting line.
I couldn’t see it before, but I feel it now: it’s an immense power
you’re afraid to unleash, afraid to captivate the world, afraid to
destroy...create...
You are...only human, yes.
But not to me.
I don’t see you anymore...
But now, I feel you.
i only ask you stay a spell
to hear the rambles i expel
of infatuation and your wicked ways
DREAMS
by Paul Soto
Life never seems to satisfy the
realities that we live within. Worlds
of expectations, hopes, and fantasies
are constantly thought of and experienced simultaneously with our physical experiences. Pensive mornings on
pasture grasses are cubicle daydreams.
Eternal love is constructed and is allowed to bloom through silent lunches
and momentary empty distractions.
But we always come back to our du-
Secret of life? Keep your receipts.
ties, our physical circumstances, with a
seasoned dismissal of the pleasure that
we have just abandoned.
One of the main troubles we face in
our perpetual strides for happiness and
satisfaction is the great marginalization between our internal desires and
the external desires which we prioritize
and value much more. Though these
external desires seem more fulfilling in
their tangibility, the intangibility of our
inner dreams has much more resonance and value in achieving our true,
unadulterated happiness.
Through our experiences as social
beings, we become accustomed and
groomed to contribute not only to our
community and society, but to ourselves financially as well. Though this
constructed predetermination is beneficial in achieving stability and progress
within a civilization, the superficial
goals and external expectations become so overbearing in their control of
our perception of purpose that we may
not even realize the monopoly itself.
Sit down and look away for a second. Think of your internal desires,
recall the thoughts that transcend
physical objectives and are emotional
and spiritual in their state. Recollect
your childhood dreams that remained
with you as you grew older, summon
your recurring fantasies and write
them down, analyze them. It should
not be a surprise for you to find out
that your dreams are thoughts and
nothing more.
Once one’s desires can be truly
analyzed and not just visualized one
can see their spiritual purpose with
much more clarity. With this refined
Rosetta stone of our inner wishes, we
may begin to evaluate the relevance of
these dreams in our real lives. However, we must not haste in our pursuits.
Through time and with the application
of logic, we will begin to find ways
to bring these dreams into actuality.
One’s lifelong dream to pursue paleontology can be transformed into seminar
visits and dig site volunteering. Another’s longing for a perfect romance may
begin writing a love novel entirely for
fun and begin to settle into the eyes of
their characters.
As each day passes with similar
tones and rewards us mostly with momentary rewards, our dreams become
reduced to momentary corners of days;
glimpses into the mind’s romanticism.
Though we may never fully externalize
our internal dreams into actuality, it is
a spiritual duty for us to evaluate what
they are, in order to realize the core of
these dreams in some way or another.
The more the gap between inner and
outer dreams narrow, the happier we
will become and we will find the equilibrium that is essential to our condition today; the balance of internal and
external fulfillment and the realization
of our dreams.
parseltongue, 2012
27
TRAVELING IN ASIA
by Nanette Nissen
For many people their life goal is to travel around the world,
to see the sights and experience the culture. For me though it
isn’t a dream but my life. One of the travels I remember the
most vividly is my travels in Asia.
Traveling in Asia didn’t exactly start out as a vacation as you
would think. Instead it started out as my move from Denmark
across the world to Penang, Malaysia. Now it sounds like a
simple thing but you see there is something that you don’t think
about. Shots. Yup, when you go to Asia they give you shots for
every single exotic disease out there and probably some just for
good luck. I am pretty sure they enjoy this. To make up for the
multiple excruciating stabs to the body, you do receive a sticker.
Then you have to go on the very long and possibly never ending
plane ride.
Arriving in the airport there are some things you realize
when you look around at the new things that surround you.
First of things are most definitely in a different language and
apparently everyone knows how to speak this strange funky
language. And they like to speak it fast with hand motions that
look like they are trying to signal down a cab and that just really
make you wonder what exactly they are talking about. Another
thing that hits you is how different they look compare to me and
the weird looks they like to give you. Being four chubby and
extremely adorable was okay but the thing that they targeted
me for since I first arrived was my hair. Apparently blonde hair
is not something they saw every day and to make sure it was
real they of course had to come over and touch my hair. Trust
me after a while you just really want to get a sign that says “$5
to touch the hair and $10 for a picture” and it crossed my mind
every single time some stranger saw it fit to come guarantee the
quality of my hair. While this does stand out in my mind the
thing I really remember is the adventures.
Malaysia really is a scenic place, especially with the jungles.
I remember a train cart resembling thing that took you to the
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parseltongue, 2012
top of a mountain. It moved at a snail like pace allowing you
to digest the sights, smells, and sounds that filled the senses
all coming from within the jungles. The trees so tall shading
out the sharp sun and leaving the mysteries within the jungle
cool and shaded though still humid. Or if you would rather be
closer to the animals within the jungle you could even walk up
the mountain along the paths. Taking the long trek up through
the jungle among the snakes and monkeys is sure to take your
breath away. Though none of this compares with the sight once
you’ve reached the peak of the mountain. There the view allows you to see everything you had so slowly moved through
from above. The sight alone is enough to make you just stand
and stare. Forever.
On the other side of the water is another half of Malaysia
they have an orangutan reservation. There you can go in and
interact with the orangutans in their natural habitats. Just remember to be careful orangutans are very curious and they may
attempt to steal your mothers’ bag in the process. After that
happens the only way to get it back is to bribe them with something more interesting.
The people there were also very different aside from their
looks, the way they did things was different too. I remember
women with dots or a sticker in the middle of their foreheads in
the streets in various garments, but this was nothing compared
to their festivals. In the heart of the cities the Malay took part
in festivals where men with hooks punctured through their skin
pulled things, it seemed like an extremely painful competition
among the people. While some had a few hooks in them others were completely cover in them. The festival also included
dances and men inside long paper mache dragons that moved
with the beat as lanterns light up the scene.
Going further north you can get to Thailand, there I stayed
in a beautiful hotel by the ocean so you could hear the lapping of
the water. There was even a baby elephant roaming within the
pool area of the hotel. In Thailand I went riding in the jungles
on the backs of elephants even on their heads. I watched men
kiss poisonous snakes in an intricate dance, men tousled with
crocodiles twice as long as they were, taking part in dangerous
tango. I played with monkeys and feed them as they ran around,
the streets were filled with them and they hung in the tree tops
precariously dangling by thin limbs. Traveling even further up
north into Hong Kong, China, while it was still owned by Eng-
WHY WE DREAM & WHAT
CAUSES DREAMS
by Angela Le
Dreams. We all dream, whether it’s a
good dream or a bad one. We all dream.
I believe dreams make up for our happiness. In dreams, we can dream whatever
we can. Some individuals dream about
their guilt or some people dream about
happiness, and others may dream about
the future.
Guilt. We are constantly guilty about
something. Most people try to escape
their guilt, but it eventually catches up
to them. Some individuals dream about
dead people, or past loves. It deals with
our feelings, guilt or anger in connection
with the person who died; or our own
feelings about death. But seeing dead
people could also be people from the
past. We may dream about our first ex,
and re-live through all the emotions we
had to put through in the relationship to
reteach us the lesson or mistake that is in
land, I saw Pandas as well.
Even though I was only there for a year the experiences are
still bright in my mind and I cherish them and everything I got
to take part in there. My adventures in Asia are something I will
remember forever.
our present relationship. Sometimes, our
dreams become real. For example, if in
the dream, we are crying, and if it seems
real enough in our dream, we may wake
up crying. Dreams may seem surreal, but
I believe that’s what causes nightmares to
occur.
Happiness. Dreams are a place where
people can escape to their blissful place.
Some people dream about being rich
and famous. Others dream about being
with their love ones. It all depends on the
person. Being rich and famous is a typical entity people dream about because it’s
one of the things that cause people to be
happy. Other people may dream about
being with their loved ones because that
too can make them happy. Expectations
in our life also can effect if we have a bad
dream or not. If we have positive expectations for ourselves, we will most likely
dream happy, but if we have negative
expectations like worrying too much or
if we don’t have enough sleep, there is a
chance we may not dream so well.
The future. People can dream about
their future or the future in general.
“Déjà vu” which is when you have the
feeling in which you have already seen
it, or lived it, is something most people
felt from their dreams. Premonitions
can cause in our dreams. Premonitions
are when we see things in the future.
They may occur in dreams or in general.
Although, we dream about things, it may
not come true. Some people dream what
they want to dream to be happy. Sometimes, we dream about the future, and
have that feeling of “Déjà vu” or have
premonitions, but that’s what dreams are
sometimes.
Dreams are a place we can go to in
our sleep. We dream to be happy, and to
be in a safe place. And in its case, it may
not come true because we have guilt, or
have negative thoughts in our mind. But
most of the time, we dream happily, and
dreams keep us sane from reality. That’s
what I believe dreams are; a place where
we can escape reality.
parseltongue, 2012
29
“Night Has Brought To Those Who
Sleep, Only Dreams They Cannot Keep.”
- Enya
SOMNAMBULISM
by Maeka De La Torre
She dreams of dreams.
On the hour of the dead, she walks,
bathed in moonlight, past the garden of
poppies and thorns to realms unknown
and unspoken. Petals whisper and sharp
edges streaks bare legs with red warnings
and chilling admonitions. Still, she walks
on, transfixed on something within her
akin to the push and pull of the ocean’s
tides.
She doesn’t always know why.
Drawn by an invisible thread, she
approaches as if entranced by each and
every pull, calling, singing, serenading
for her to inch closer. It’s a natural attraction that lures her by instinct or by a connection much greater than any primal
force, binding her very being to this…extravaganza: a manifestation of mankind’s
dreams, desires, truths, and faults.
She’s often curious.
Who are they? She speaks of those
whose minds she invades upon. From
their dreams and nightmares, she distinguishes between the good men and the
bad.
She is drawn to the latter.
They say a good man’s past makes
one curious, but if he is a bad man, then
it often makes one want to know even
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parseltongue, 2012
more. It was a dark obsession, but that
little string that entwines her is more
than willing to indulge it. She devours
their dark and scavenges for an inkling
of secrecy and every covert detail held
within the deepest and darkest recesses
of the purest mind. She is always hungry
for more.
She melts into the world of the slumbering.
A mass of confusion hails her as she
carries her way farther into the domain
of doors and locks. A labyrinth of entrances and exits winding down the path
of existence and creation stretches farther than she could see, though what is
before her is obvious: a challenge. Doors
shut and mechanisms click, sealing away
secrets from her ravenous eyes.
She is startled by her own enthusiasm.
Each knob and handle refuses to give
way. Although, that does nothing to
deter prying hands. Each twist and turn
she takes only drives the hunger; sweet,
sinister promises coaxing her further on.
She adores this game.
That mind must be so weary to keep
its thoughts guarded, even at this ungodly hour! But she can tell that his guard is
slipping; every few knobs turn halfway
before holding fast, almost as if he caught
his lapse, almost as if there was someone
on the other side…
She reaches the heart of the maze
and steps through the arched gateway,
neither barricaded nor encompassed,
opposing the norm. Eyes widen and then
narrow as an amused smile stretches
across her face. She tries to hold in the
cruel laughter, but fails.
She knew there was a reason.
It was such a delicious secret held
within those four walls; her victory was
not without spoils. It really was such a
shame that she failed to notice the silhouette by the doorway with merciless eyes
gazing callously at the intruder.
“My, my…quite the curious one,
aren’t you?”
She didn’t dare turn around
“You know what they say about curiosity, correct?” Footfalls resonate; calamity, imminent.
She didn’t dare breathe.
“Well, since you’ve uncovered this…”
he gestured to his secret, the enormous
length of the silhouette’s shadow visible
from a midnight sun. “You may as well
know…I never cared for cats.”
His secret gave a malicious grin before
her screams echoed within the black
walls, etching her terror within the core
of his mind.
She awoke the next day.
She didn’t recall a thing.
“The Only Witnesses To Our Sincerest Truths Are The Shadows Of Our
Mind.”
Penumbra
Her arrival did not go unnoticed.
She slipped through the woven
thoughts and memories, a phantom passing through the mind.
Pallid lips frowned, little white worms
curling towards a finely pointed chin.
Beside him, eyes shimmering with mirth
of roses and poisons glowed to mischief
and something much more sinister.
“Another game…how droll.”
He needn’t say a word. It could protect
itself, or not if it chose so. A feral smirk
dissipated into the blackness, leaving the
apathetic silhouette to observe the spectacle.
Down, down, down she went, further into
the rabbit hole.
She was oblivious to the descent. The
slightest slope, the smallest decline on
the landscape of insanity, went unnoticed
by curious and prying appendages, her
erratic behavior indicating her obscure
fascination.
He felt no sympathy.
It teased her, the little monster he held
close to his heart, overtaking his mind. It
loosened its hold upon all his secrets, but
he paid no mind to it; it was a calculating
hellion after all.
He was not at all surprised to see it lead her
to the very core of his subconscious.
The sickening fiend, both terrifying
and beautiful all at once, was such a vain
individual. Of course it would lead the
poor girl to its lair; what better way was
there for such a proud creature to present
itself?
Again, he felt no sympathy.
She stood before his monster, throwing her head back and crowing like an ignorant fool—then again, she was. Stonefaced, he listened as her shrill laughter
reverberated in its domain; the heat of his
gaze dropped to subarctic levels, aggravation prickling at his skin. A predatory
leer in his direction went unnoticed by
the girl indicated the necessity that was
his presence; it was purely for effect. It
loved games just as much as he.
He decided to start playing now.
When he made his presence known,
she froze like the cowardly being he was
certain she was. So strange are the curious: eager to make a mess of things and
then run from the scene like a pitiful
animal cowering from its master. The
ignorant little girl had no clue that what
looms behind her is nothing compared
to what lurks before her in the prevailing
darkness. After all, her rapacious curiosity is nothing compared to its voracious
hunger.
He let it have its fun.
Soon, she was no more, and his little
nightmare, whose eyes that stalked his
every move and whose hand that drew
forth those unfortunate souls from a
mere tug that reel them like doomed
fishes for its next meal, simply evaporated into the shadows.
He sighed, preventing an amused
smile from gracing his features.
The walls continued to echo.
“The Truth is Rarely Pure and Never
Simple.”-Oscar Wilde
Perspicacity
It began with a single piece of thread.
It dwindled, sought, and captured
curious minds with its tempting call; a
siren’s song amidst storm rippled waves.
To satiate my appetite or for his obscure
delight, it matters not. What matters is
the delicate ruin of our many victims;
our little toys to do with as we please.
He remained impassive.
I knew better though. It was faint—
the slightest of metamorphosis, but it was
there. The little organ imbedded into
human flesh, pumping crimson liquid
to flow and spill forth (should there be
parseltongue, 2012
31
cause to) accelerated its tempo ever so
slightly.
We awaited our prey.
This was his game as much as mine.
His dreams weren’t simply the web that
entangles and snares our captives—he
was a predator, masking his excitement
with stoicism. His little charade never
ceases to amuse me.
“Another game…how droll.”
A shift in the wind and I was gone
from the view of cold eyes underlying
with cruel pleasure beneath the fragile,
mirrored surface.
She was interesting enough,
as fools went, anyways. A curious
little kitten, wandering to the beast’s lair,
unknowing and uncaring of the ominous
way doors shut and mechanisms clicked
to secure his secrets from unwanted eyes.
I teased her along the corridors, tugging
that invisible thread ever-so-slightly,
beckoning her towards my domain.
She deserved a glimpse for all her trouble,
after all.
He never locks my door, allowing me
to come and go as I please; to plague and
wane from his existence as I please. Even
if he did shut me away, given the slightest crack, shadows can easily slither from
here to there: from illusion to reality.
Upon the first sight of me…
she cackled like a lunatic. How ignorant. Nonetheless, soon she would be
nevermore for he was nearby, just the
smallest traces of malevolence in his
soul, permeating the air with the heated
aroma; he has decided to partake in our
game at last. Our gazes locked and I
could feel my own exhilaration pulsing
throughout this mockery of an existence.
He approached her.
I savored her fear; her drumming
heart, her blood running cold within
her veins, her face bleeding out of all the
colors in her mortal palette, and most
of all—the trepidation in her eyes, wide
like a marble, reflecting with clarity like
polished glass. But I refrained from moving until he concluded his mockery— as
though a cue to me. I allowed the last
syllable to flee his lips.
I didn’t hesitate.
It was a great pleasure of mine to take.
Blood curdling, ear-piercing, vibrant,
and melodious; her shrieks painted life
into this decaying dominion. He relishes
them with silent approval, his earthen
mentality quaking the realms of his fragile sanity. I vanish from his sight without
a word, the symphony of her terror never
ceasing.
The darkness around him collapses.
AN UNEXPECTED FATE
by Kaitlyn Albrecht
black dress up pants with a white collar
shirt and black pumps that added at least
a foot to her height with how short she
is. She can smell her mom’s pomegranate
perfume from where she was standing—
breathing it in – loving the scent.
Kaitlynn slowly walks up to her mom
and smiles back at her, still holding onto
the piece of toast bread, chewing bits of
it. Her mom kisses Kaitlynn’s forehead
and soothes the back of her head.
“Have a great day today. I love you
Kaitlynn,” her mom hugs her daugh-
ter tightly, planting one last kiss on her
cheek.
“I will mom.” Kaitlynn embraces her
mom when she hugged her, breathing in
her scent once more. Her mom release
their embrace so Kaitlynn could take off
to the bus.
“Oh and call your dad. He left early
again, so tell him to have a great day as
well.”
Kaitlynn nods “Will do mom. I love
you.” She then takes off rapidly to the
bus, waving goodbye to her mom.
“Mom! I’m heading out to school
already!” Kaitlynn shouts from her doorway; as she grabs a hold of her backpack
she runs down her spiral staircase that
leads to her kitchen, snatching a piece
of toast bread ready for her. Before she
was about to exit her home, she sees her
mom waiting by the door with her arms
crossed across her chest, smiling and
wearing what she always wears to work:
32
parseltongue, 2012
“Jared wake up! Or you’re going to
be late to school again!” Jared’s mom
yells at the end of his hall from his room,
hoping he heard her. Jared rolls his eyes
while he snags his spiral from his desktop and takes off to the front door, not
wanting to see his mom before he leaves,
because in reality when she is the one
that always makes him late to school bye
lecturing him to stop getting in trouble
and to stop skipping classes. He makes
his way to the door when he glances to
his side and notices his mom rushing
over to him wearing what she always
wears: red plaid pajama pants with a
loose gray t-shirt and pink slippers.
“Mom, I don’t want to hear you now.
I have to get to school.” He quickly says,
trying to avoid her. His mom stops him
at the doorway, staring sadly at him.
“I just want a kiss from my son. Is
that to hard?” she grabs him by his arm
and kisses his cheek forcefully. He groans
and wipes the wet kiss off his cheek.
“Can I leave now?” Jared questions;
losing patience. His mom shakes her
head with disbelief.
“Yes.”
Satisfied, Jared takes off to the bus
that was waiting for him outside of his
home.
Kaitlynn and Jared arrive at school at
the same time, eyes glued to their cellphones once they exited the bus, reading
a text message from their parents.
Going out to dinner tonight with the
Ranger’s/Cooper’s. You and Kaitlynn/
Jared go home and order pizza. Won’t be
out late. Love you.
“Interesting.” They both say at the
same time. They hadn’t noticed they
were already walking next to each other
and heard what they said. Kaitlynn
smiles at Jared while looks annoyed. She
sees him place his phone back into his
blue washed jean pocket and sighs.
“I guess it’s just the two of us then
isn’t it?” Jared looks at her, smiling
fakely. Kaitlynn rolls her eyes as she
walks right passed him to enter the
school hallway. They continue walking
through the crowded hallway; to Kaitlynn it looked like they were at a store on
Black Friday with how many people were
overpopultaing the school. Her and Jared
arrive to their classroom and sat quielty
at their desk, which were right next to
each others.
Jared turns to face Kaitlynn, “I can’t
believe they’re going out. What about us?
We wanna go out too?” Frustrated with
his complaining she turns and faces his
as well.
“We should be happy for them. They
hardly ever go out. Now be quiet. Class
is starting.”
Kaitlynn and Jared stroll through
the sidewalk that was leading to Jared’s
house; his mom made Zuchini Casserole
for them to eat and have something to do
while they were going to be home alone.
Kaitlynn and Jared laugh hysterically at
what they were watching on Kaitlynn’s
phone, but she stopped when she saw a
horrific car crash sight in front of her.
They both suddenly stopped at their
tracks and stare intensly at the sight.
Jared keeps staring at the car and
recognizes the color of it; seeing a cross
hanging on the rearview mirror, he notices it’s the same one as his parents. His
eyes widened in fear as he ran towards
the wreckage. Noticing a hand hanging
out of the window in the backseat, Kaitlynn sees a gold bracelet that was the
same as her mom. Kaitlynn falls down
on her knees and cries uncontrolably.
The cops surrounding the crash, stop and
grab Jared so we wouldn’t get burned
from the scourching fire rising from the
cars.
The other policeman see her and carry
her to constable; she was to in shock to
be able to walk on her own. Jared follows
along, tears forming up in his eyes. Him
and Kaitlynn both sit in the back of the
police car while the two cops sat in the
front and started the car, driving to the
police station. Jared looks over at Kaitlynn, seeing her eyes puffed up and red
from crying to much. He grabs her hand
and caresses it with him thumb. She
looks up at him and smiles weakly.
Jared leans in towards her and whispers, “What do we do now? I don’t
wanna live on my own.” Kaitlynn nods
in agreement.
“Neither do I. What can we do?” Kaitlynn wipes away another tear from her
cheek, “live together?”
Jared’s eyes widen. “Yes. Yes we can!”
parseltongue, 2012
33
THE DANCE OF DREAD
by Matthew Scoggins
In the bleak distance, a thin veil of fog
draped over a field of wilted flowers and
rotting trees. Beyond this field stood a
crumbling property known as the Weltzer Manor.
The Weltzer Manor stood alone; no
other houses were nearby. Black stone
and moss made up the exterior of this
gruesome, two-story house. Brittle,
twisted trees surrounded the morbid
structure, and several ebony ravens and
crows perched on the trees’ numerous
branches.
The large estate had a large, heavy
door with a gothic knocker. Broken window panes were filled with dusty spider
webs, and the curtains fluttered with the
chilly breeze. At times, passersby can see
a menacing entity glaring from a window, and many have said that they could
see a noose around a dark, male apparition.
Historical documents dealing with the
mansion’s previous owners depict many
surreal, grotesque events that took place
on the Weltzer grounds. Documented
stranglings, hangings, decapitations, as
well as numerous suicides verify a local
fear regarding hauntings at the Weltzer
Manor.
A team of local paranormal investigators had once set foot inside the black
mansion with the hopes of leaving with
incontrovertible evidence of life beyond
34
parseltongue, 2012
the grave, but even to this day, no one
has seen them return…
About ten years after the forgotten
investigators appeared at the mansion’s
front door, the Weltzer heiress, Layla,
walked stealthily towards the colossal
front door. With the intent of renovating
the estate and creating a more modern
appearance, Layla opened the door to
her new inheritance. Upon unlocking the
door, she immediately felt the icy hand of
death finger her slender body. Skeptical
about her “family curse”, she continued
into the house, closing the door as softly
as she could. Portraits of deceased relatives hung on the dusty, web-covered
walls, and a double-stairway led up to
the second story. Taking in her surroundings, Layla began to investigate the rest
of her house.
As she approached the stairways, a
soft, blue light appeared at the top of
the left staircase. A tall, eerie figure
looked down at her, and simply stared
for a while. Unsure of what to do, Layla
backed away slowly; not looking where
she was going, she stepped into another
light and immediately felt a freezing, tingling sensation. Passing through this second entity, she let out a frightened gasp.
The new apparition was of a woman in a
moth-eaten ballroom dress. Her hair was
slightly pulled back with a purple rose in
her blonde hair. Her face, however, was
the most horrifying feature of all; one
half of her dolled-up face was missing –
exposed muscle and rotting flesh made
up her left side.
Frozen with terror, Layla couldn’t
take her panic-stricken blue eyes off this
ghastly sight. The woman held her hand
out to Layla, and disappeared into the
darkness. The man at the top of the stairs
drifted away, leaving her to ponder about
what she’d just experienced. Trying to
make sense of the encounter, she looked
around and saw a portrait of a man
with menacing features: the same broad
nose; same facial hair; the same angered
expression. Underneath the painting was
the name Paul Weltzer.
Previous information within the family’s historical archives state that a Paul
Weltzer had taken his own life at a dinner party approximately fifty-two years
ago that same night. It wasn’t any surprise at all that Paul would be there, but
who was the owner of the female entity?
Now wasn’t the time to dwell on family
history; she had plenty of exploring to
do.
From the foyer, there were two immediate actions she could take: go behind the musty, red curtains and into
the room on the first floor, or take to the
stairs and begin above. Since she was
already on the first floor, Layla took her
cigarette lighter out of her denim-jean
pocket and lit an unused candle from a
candelabra on the mantle of a fireplace.
She walked over to the curtains and discovered a library. Many books and documents filled the many rows of shelves.
Rumors of hidden spell books and oc-
cult materials caused Layla to feel slight
discomfort as she examined the shelves’
contents. The stench of book mold filled
the air as she sifted through a yellowing
book.
Looking through one book by candlelight, Layla noticed a certain message on one of the pages. The message
read, “I am Madness”, and was written
across two pages. Taken by surprise, she
dropped both the book and her candle.
Upon hitting the floor, the book tore,
and the flame of the candle extinguished.
Layla knelt down to feel for the candle,
but to no avail, was unable to find it. She
tried striking a flame from her lighter,
but she’d run out of lighter fluid. Layla
was left in total darkness, her heart
pounding faster now. She strained her
eyes to see where she was going, feeling
around as she went towards the exit. Unable to light another candle, she would
have to explore the rest of the library
later.
The musty, red velvet curtains parted,
and immediately afterwards, the entire
house was illuminated with blue lights.
Soft, glowing orbs and wisps filled the
room, accompanied by the translucent
silhouettes of human bodies. Their num-
ber was quite large; many voices could
be heard at one time. Many feelings took
place within Layla’s body: amazement;
fear; curiosity. A cold phenomenon froze
her to her core. Uncertain about how she
should handle this abrupt confrontation
with these paranormal guests, she moved
past the many ghosts and traveled up the
stairs. As she got closer to the top of the
stairs, she heard music being played. But
where is it coming from?
Being that she didn’t explore the entire
library on the first floor, the second floor
seemed much larger at first. Realizing
that it couldn’t really be, she shrugged it
So where are we?
parseltongue, 2012
35
off and met up with a hallway in between
the two staircases. A rotted guardrail
finally fell to the floor below as she approached the opening of the hallway.
Several rooms lined both sides of the
long, dark corridor. As Layla reached for
the rusted doorknob to the first room on
the left, the door flew open as though
it had been pushed violently. Startled
by this paranormal event, she waited to
catch her breath before entering. Hesitation settled in, but putting that aside, she
entered the room, the door slamming
behind her.
This room was decorated with broken, contorted toys that had no use any
longer, a metal crib with bent bars, and
the walls were covered with mold and
peeling wallpaper. Deciding that this was
once a children’s nursery, there wasn’t
any reason to be there anymore. A rocking horse in the back corner of the room
began rocking slowly, causing her to
burst out of the room.
The door across from the nursery was
open just a crack. Peering into the room,
Layla noticed a broken bed, a shattered
mirror on a vanity, and more wallpaper
falling off the walls. Suddenly, the vanity
began hovering above the floor and flew
at the door. Layla closed the door just in
time to dodge a potentially fatal accident.
This room wasn’t the culprit behind the
mysterious music, so she went on to the
next room.
Each door withheld surprises, but
none had any relevance to the task at
36
parseltongue, 2012
hand. The last door to be opened was at
the end of the hallway. She pressed her
ear to the door, and the music was blaring now. Layla opened the door and discovered a ballroom, completely occupied
by spirits of the deceased Weltzer family.
The ballroom, one of the largest
rooms in the mansion, had more ominous portraits and paintings, an ebony
piano in the back corner, and a dust-covered chandelier that glistened in the light
of the spiritual dancers.
Greeted by the female spirit from
earlier that night, Layla sidled the wall to
avoid the whirling couples. Aside from
the female entity, no other spirits seemed
to notice her, and as the song ended, Layla felt a soft tug on her hand. She glanced
at her hand and realized the woman was
holding her hand. She took Layla to the
center of the room, where the other spirits were preparing for another dance.
A second song began; an eerie waltz
ensued, and amid the laughter and
excitement expressed by the dancing
ghosts, Layla could see the human spirits transforming right before her eyes!
Silhouettes began to shift into evil beings that now had complete visibility.
Horns, wings, tails, and many other
ominous body parts began to take shape.
Layla suddenly felt the freezing grasp of
the woman’s hand turn to a scorching,
clawed fist; her own hand still inside
the claw. The woman’s face was now
complete, and seemed to be like that of a
lion; her eyes were completely black, and
her fangs were dripping with a searing
saliva.
Fear-stricken, Layla wriggled her hand
free and charged for the door. However,
just before she reached the door, the
ghoulish Paul Weltzer floated through
the door, a noose around his neck. She
stopped dead in her tracks.
Demonic laughter filled the room as
the wicked apparitions closed in around
Layla and Paul. Layla cried out to Paul,
pleading for help, as he still appeared in
human form, but rather than helping her,
he slipped the rope from around his neck
over her neck. He secured the rope and
commanded the ghosts to pull on the end
of the rope while he pulled on her body.
The force was so great that Layla’s neck
snapped, and her head was severed from
her body. Jubilant cries rang out through
the house and into the next town. Paul
held her lifeless head up high, cheering
along with the other spirits, and slowly
faded into the pitch black night.
Layla awoke with a cold sweat, her
heart pounding violently as she tried
to distinguish dream from reality. She
leapt out of bed once she gathered herself
and peered into her vanity to find that
she had unexplained bruises around her
neck, as well as a streak of white hair
tangled within her sweaty, copper locks.
At that point, she knew that the Weltzer
Manor was more than she bargained for.
She cancelled her project and vowed never to set foot on those forsaken grounds,
for her life truly depended on it.
NOT SO DIFFERENT
by Robin Carin
What is a Dream? What is Reality?
A piece of imagination that comes to life in the
dark of night
Anything that can be proven true with facts
A moment where anything can happen, for
simple objectives to the impossible obstacles
But when does the dream actually begin and
when does reality start to fade in black?
In the dream, you become what you really want
to see yourself as, such as being something or
someone important, or perhaps blending in with
your surroundings
When you’re back to reality, you can hardly believe or recall your hallucination
When you’re awake you want the unattainable,
When you’re asleep you want everything to be
real no matter how bizarre it may be
Are the worlds of fantasy and reality really all
that different?
Do they not work hand in hand with one another
to obtain an individual’s personal purpose?
Dreams can be the doors of numerous opportunities, while Reality is where one puts the effort to
make those opportunities possible
Dreams are not only the escape of reality, but
they are also visions of what that reality can be
changed into
Like Yin and Yang, they keep the balance within
one’s self
It’s something diverse yet alike
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DREAMS OF A YOUNG MAN
by Jairo Selvera
There are so many things in the world, a lot of people
in it, a lot of useless things around, there is money, and ambition comes with it, but problems are everywhere. Even for
those who do not have any money, and the same goes for the
people who can live spending millions, life is always giving us
chances, opportunities, but like they say every action has its
reaction, along my way I have experimented that particular
saying.
I learned in history that the founding fathers of
America proclaim happiness for the people, along with liberty
and other things, even the most famous book in the world, the
bible shows that money is not what makes people happy. Even
though it can make life a lot easier, that does not guarantee
that those who are rich are going to be happy, nor feel full.
I am an 18 year old young man that is barely starting to
experience how hard situations in my life can be, and I know
there is people older than me that might say; “Oh this kid does
not know what he is talking about”. But the truth is that my
life has given me so many problems and issues that forced me
every day to think different, to plan different, it makes me
actually feel different and act mature.
It started when I was little, and it’s been like this since
then, and I have to admit that at the beginning I thought this
situation was happening to me because life was trying to teach
me a lesson, but apparently the lesson is not done yet, but I will
keep trying and trying even when things seem to be the worst,
I say that if I fall seventy times, seventy times I will rise, I
believe that those things that do not kill me, are going to make
me stronger, I learn from every single mistake, and I try not to
step in the same hole. Even when life is hard enough, it can get
worst, but it depends on me, because my attitude has a lot to
do with the way I confront my problems.
Here I am, working at my office, I finally got my own
business, I have people working for me, I pay them very good,
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no one has anything bad to tell, my mother finally got her
beautiful house surrounded by flowers in a huge garden, my
dad has the ranch he have always wanted, with horses and
cows, with a small lake in which he and I sometimes spend
time talking while fishing. My little sister finally got her car,
she is planning to go to college out of the state, but that’s good
because at one day she is has to start her own life too, even
though it is hard to see her growing, that is the same feeling
I feel when I see my father, and my mother, becoming older.
I cannot believe time has passed so fast, and I cannot believe
that I have accomplish this many things for my family.
Now I guess it is time to look for myself, maybe getting marry would be a good idea, and the perfect time to do it
might be now. It feels great to know that my love one are safe,
that I can provide them what they need, and I will really like to
have a baby, my little boy, sometimes when I am alone I actually think in how I will like to name him, I know for sure that
his name has to start with the letter J, the same as me and my
father and all my uncles and cousins, it will continue with the
family tradition.
It really was hard at the beginning, but it was worth
it, so much pain and tears and hope attached to my faith. But
now I see the light in the middle of the darkness, things are
great, thank the lord and thank all those who told me ones,
that I was not going to be able to get to this point in my life, all
those who laugh at me when I tripped along my way, the ones
who gave turned back on me when they saw me falling off in
the mud, I could not see, my eyes were closed, and could not
even breath, my face was covered with the dark, painful, and
embarrassing mud, but they also contributed to the cause by
giving me strength and more reasons to be the way I was, to
fight until the end for what I wanted, I will never forget that,
and will never forget where I come from.
Finally, a Saturday morning I woke up at 9 am, and I
was still 18 years old, and everything was just a dream, but
what a beautiful dream, the dream of a young man.
THEN THERE WAS NOTHING
by Cassie Guerrero
The city lights reflected onto the
apartment window as the night began to
fall. They shined bright to the rest of the
world, yet to me they couldn’t be more
dull and dim. Everything seemed to be
meaningless these days. Nothing mattered; all my feelings were switched off
except one: agony.
My vision began to blur as memories
flashed through my mind in an instant:
Lying in the bed of my truck, looking up into the midnight sky, having
her wrapped up in my arms, our fingers
intertwined.
Chasing her into the open field, tackling one another and laughing until it
would hurt.
Seeing her face light up the second
I’d play her all time favorite song, then
we’d slow dance; hers arms placed gently around my neck and my arms linked
around her waist, our eyes never looking
away from one another.
I shook my head interrupting the
trance and looked around the apartment
to find something productive, maybe
even distracting, to do as my phone began to ring. I picked it up and answered
in an instant.
I cleared my throat to get rid of that
horrid feeling that appears right when
you’re about to breakdown.
“Hello?”
“Yo, Marc! What’s up, man? How
ya doin’?” It was a good friend of mine,
Sean. He and the rest of the guys have
been bothering me lately, guess they’re
worried and all. Probably also noticed I
just haven’t been myself.
“I’m good, it’s all good.” It sucks lying
through your teeth.
“Ha, well me and the rest of the guys
were thinkin’ about goin’ down to the local for some pool. We all sort of figured
you could use a few drinks yourself since
it might help… well, you know…” He
trailed off and sort of mumbled the remainder of the sentence. That didn’t stop
the point from getting across. Whether it
was said or not, it still hurts all the same;
you can’t hide from the pain.
I looked around the apartment and
saw what a mess it had all become, it was
a real dump. Something had to change.
“Yeah, man. For sure.”
“Thatta boy! We’ll be over there in
about 10.”
“Alright, cool. See ya then.” I clicked
the “end’ button and made my way to the
bathroom.
I wiped my face, sighed and had a
stare down with my own reflection. I
quickly cleaned up, threw on whatever
came into view first, and was out the
door.
Downstairs was where the boys were
waiting in the black ’69 convertible. I
hopped in the back and was off into the
night with one mission: to forget her.
We all got to the pub, took seats at the
bar and ordered our drinks.
“Can I get a tall shiner?”
“7 and 7 over here!”
“Shot of bourbon!”
“Black Velvet right here.”
“Hmm, Everclear please.” I rubbed
the back of my neck and looked down.
“Whoa. That’s some strong stuff
there, sonny boy.” Ernie, the bartender,
looked at me as he served us our drinks.
“I know what I ordered, now can I
just have my damn drink? I’m nearly
twenty-six years old. I’m pretty sure I
can handle myself by now.” I looked up
sternly. I wasn’t in the mood.
Sean shook his head once as the rest
of the guys grabbed their drinks and
headed to the game area. I stayed back
and gulped down the shot with ease- or
so I thought. I coughed and attempted
to clear my throat as the alcohol sent a
burning sensation down my throat. I
banged the glass back down on the counter, “hit me again!”
The time that had passed by was
unknown as well as the number of empty
shot glasses that were placed in front of
me. I fixed my gaze to look on over on
what the guys were doing. They were
laughing, drinking, and having a good
time. Sean looked like he was getting
his ass kicked in pool so I decided to go
help him out. I slid off the stool bar and
attempted to walk straight, but my vision
was somewhat blurred and I couldn’t feel
my legs much. Voices among noises were
also sort of blending. Then there was that
damn ringing, or was it a buzz?
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39
“Give me another!” I had barely walked a few steps when
I spun back around to face the bar with an arm in the air. I
nearly lost my balance for a second.
“I think I’m gonna have to cut you off here, Marc.” Ernie
was drying glasses with a white hand towel as he eyed me. “I’ll
give you water, though.”
“Awe, c’mon man! The party’s just getting started! You’re
really gonna rain on this parade?” My arms were thrown in
every direction as my words slurred on out.
“It’s getting late, guys. Maybe we should leave.” Tyler stated
while looking around for reassurance. The guys were beside
him; guess they made their way over when they heard the
commotion.
“Yeah, good idea. C’mon, Marc.” Sean made his way over
and guided me outside.
“YOU SUCK, ERNIE!” That’s all I could manage get out
as the guys pulled me away from the entrance, forcing me to
walk away. I stumbled and had an endless amount of emotions
stirring inside. I wasn’t sure which was more intoxicating: the
alcohol or the love?
How, when and why I arrived at the nearby park was beyond my acknowledgment. All I knew is that I later found myself standing in the middle of the bridge that peered over the
lake; this was where our first date had been. I pulled my phone
out and knew I had to make that call.
“Man, don’t do it. I know you think it’ll fix everything, but
c’mon… let’s be realistic. It’s already been weeks, man…” Sean
walked towards me and tried to warn me but it was too late,
the phone was already on its third ring.
The phone rang on and on until the voicemail came on. I
gulped because deep down I knew what this meant.
“Danielle, please don’t erase this message if you ever want
to hear these words from me again: I love you.” I hung up,
tossed the phone over to Sean, stepped onto the railing of the
bridge and let myself fall back. The impact of the icy, dark water sent a shock throughout my body but soon… soon the pain
left, and then there was nothing.
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CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT
by Daniel Mills
“Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts, it’s gonna be a
bumpy ride”1
See “life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to
death”2 because they fall into line behind men who
“love the smell of napalm in the morning.”3 They beat down
on the middlemen until we’re all just orphans of the American
dream.
Now, “what we have here...is a failure to communicate.”4 See
each one of us “coulda had class...coulda been a contender...
could’ve been somebody”5
Earth,”11 and should we fail in our attempts to make a better
future, if we fall flat on our faces—“We’ll always have Paris.”12
At least, that’s what people say, isn’t it?
So when you go from here today please
See
Think
Analyze and
Act, and
“May the force be with you.”13
1-All About Eve, 2-Auntie Mame, 3-Apocalypse Now, 4-Cool Hand Luke, 5-On the Waterfront, 6-Boondock Saints, 7-Sunset Boulevard, 8-Treasure of the Sierra Madre, 9-Dracula,
10-A Street Car Named Desire, 11-Pride of the Yankees, 12-Casablanca, 13-Star Wars
But we let it all pass us by.
Why?
Because we saw the actions of the masses as acceptable.
Now “we should all fear evil men, but there is another evil
which we must fear most. And that is the indifference of good
men.”6 It’s time that we stop idly standing by; it’s time we realize “we are big! It’s the picture that’s getting small.”7
And when they as who are we to try and make such change,
and ask for credentials we’ll reply, “Badges? We ain’t got no
badges! We don’t need no badges!”8 We can change this world
for the better should we choose to act. They will hear us: “children of the night. What music [we’ll] make”9
Its nigh time that we should all be able to “depend on the kindness of strangers,”10 and the day is here that we should witness
ourselves, at the very least, trying to make a change in this
world.
“I can consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the
parseltongue, 2012
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parseltongue
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